


East Wind

by jfcmartin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Exchangelock AU Exchange 2014, Gen, Kid!Lock, Teen!John, exchangelock, kid!Sherlock, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 13:13:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1942479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jfcmartin/pseuds/jfcmartin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He looked at me from my feet up to my face, as if he expected me to do a flip. He squints his eyes and said, “Thirteen years old, lives in a tiny flat. Has an older brother; no, sister. Went here by running; missed the bus. He’s late, wasn’t he? And you’re gonna make him look after me?” His voice was of his age, but his words we’re of his brother’s. Great, there’s another one.</p><p>AU Exchange for evaholderart!</p>
            </blockquote>





	East Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! This is a kid!lock and teen!lock AU for evaholderart. I've done Kidlock, Teenlock, (i tiny bit of Sports, i don't think it even counts XD) AUs, Alternate Professions, sort of... Anyway I hope you like it! And also the rest of the readers, enjoy! ~~~~~

_No no no no no no no **no**_ I’m very late for school! Well, that’s the least of my worries. Tardiness isn’t really the biggest issue for me; it’s the _earful_ I’ll be receiving from Mr. Holmes.

I ran along the sidewalk, still a block away from school. I just accepted the fact that I would spend my afternoon with my Physics teacher and assistant principal, with him literally reading what I did for the day. He knows in an instant who I snogged and where by the creases on my shirt. I mean, who does that?

Finally, I'm at school. I pushed the double doors with my whole body, and entered a deserted hallway. I sighed and checked my wristwatch, ten minutes late. One hour detention and I probably have to answer all of his impossible questions like; “Who is the fifth vice president of America?”

Who the _bloody hell_ cares? People can live the rest of their lives and not know the fifth vice president of America. And we’re in England!

I dashed to the staircase and in one long hallway, ending in the third door to the left, and opened it. Greeted by a voice owned by the last person I want to see right now, and twenty pairs of eyes staring at me, like I murdered a cat.

“Ah, the man of the hour; John Hamish Watson! I’m so glad you could make it, I thought you wouldn’t. It would be such a shame,” he greeted, and throughout his entire speech, his left eyebrow disappeared in his hairline.

“Sadly, you are,” he checked his watch, “thirteen minutes late. This was a very obvious expectation, but surprisingly, you arrived two minutes earlier than anticipated!” _Are you done yet?_ I thought. Maybe, if he stopped _nagging_ we would’ve been dismissed already. But I guess that’s a ‘very obvious expectation’.

“Detention isn’t a rightful punishment for you, Mr. Watson. I have other things in mind.” Everyone started sniggering, and I bet they took that statement the wrong way. I decided to sit at the far corner of the room, so I didn’t have to see the demon up-close.

The whole class was dreadful. I paid no attention to the discussion at all and I nearly slept four times. It had something to do with gravity, and the only thing I remembered was there’s this bloke named Isaac, an apple fell on his head, and then he thought, “I wonder what caused this odd phenomenon” and decided to call it gravity. Well, that’s the summarization of all the crap Mr. Mycroft Holmes gave us.

Finally, the heavens answered my prayers, and the bell rung. Half the class woke from their slumber, and left immediately. I packed my notebook full of scribbles into my bag and left. As I passed by the teacher’s table, I heard sir say, “John, may I have a word with you?”

That’s basically the code for; “You fucked up, so listen up you little shit.” So I just turned and faced him. I forced a neutral expression, masking my great urge to punch his face.

“Like I said earlier, I won’t be giving you detention. Rather, I’ll be giving you a task. You’ve been very irresponsible this past few days, John. And I expect that this exercise would help you shape your morals in order for you to mature. May I depend on that, Mr. Watson?”

“Yes, sir.” I replied. That’s literally the only answer to that question.

“Okay then, let’s get started.” He stood and went for the door. “Follow me.”

* * *

 

He led me to his office. It was on the other side of the building, so the whole trip consisted of awkward silence and some lectures on sleeping early so you won’t wake up late in the morning. The usual grown up talk.

We reached our destination. He opened the wooden door with his name on a gold plate in cursive writing;

_Mycroft Holmes_

_Physics Teacher_

I followed suit, entering the office. It was very typical, with a table in the end of the room, two black book shelves on each wall. Each of them was filled with hard bound books. In the center of the room was a kid, probably at the age of five, just staring at us. He wore a paper hat on his head, an eye patch, a blue shirt, and red trousers. On his hand was a toy ship. The longer I stare at him the more uncomfortable I got.

“John, this is my little brother, Sherlock.” He went to his brother, crouched beside him, and said, “Sherlock, this is my grade eight student, John.”

He looked at me from my feet up to my face, as if he expected me to do a flip. He squints his eyes and said, “Thirteen years old, lives in a tiny flat. Has an older brother; no, sister. Went here by running; missed the bus. He’s late, wasn’t he? And you’re gonna make him look after me?” His voice was of his age, but his words we’re of his brother’s. _Great, there’s another one._

My teacher smiled smugly at his brother, impressed by his deductions. “Correct, brother dear.” He stood and turned to me and said; “You heard him. You’re task is to babysit my brother for the whole day. By the end of your last period, you will have to return him to me safe and sound. I worry about him.” Is this man out of his mind?

“But sir, what about my subjects? I couldn’t handle them while bringing _him._ ” I said. I’ve only met the kid for a few minutes, but I’m sure my life would be a living _hell_ by being near him. I guess it runs in the family.

“Nonsense, I was able to grade the papers of approximately a hundred students while doing the same task! Surely you can do it as you are younger and no paperwork to accomplish.” Even if I hate him, I’m a little impressed about his reason and logic to all things, but this made absolutely _no sense._ He’s probably just lazy to do it himself and decided to give the work to the next person that annoys him. Well guess who won the raffle.

I have no other choice, so I sighed. He gestured to his brother, and I walked towards him. I looked at him and said, “Come on, Sherlock. Let’s go. I’m late for my next subject.”

“No worries!” Mycroft said. “I’ve alerted Mr. Lestrade upon your late arrival.” He’s planned this the whole time? And Mr. Lestrade is in this? Does the world really hate me?

I didn’t answer. Sherlock got up and grabbed my hand. His height reached up to my stomach. He brought his pirate ship with him. Together, we exited the office of Mycroft Holmes and towards my next subject.

I’ve decided that I didn’t want to be seen holding hands with a tiny pirate. So I removed the paper hat and the eye patch, and in return, I got my hand bitten.

“Ouch! Sherlock!” I screamed, a few people looking my way.

I heard him mutter, “Idiot.”

* * *

 

Ah, a normal day in Algebra. Twenty-two students barely listened to whatever Mr. Lestrade has in store for us, a couple of students looking at him with great admiration as if he saved us from the great flood, and a five year old kid at my feet playing a 12x12 rubix cube while answering literally all the questions our teacher would shoot. He would answer in lightning speed, faster than the smart kid in the class, as if he has a calculator implanted in his brain. He would occasionally glare at him for stealing “his moment” and Sherlock just shrugs it off.

“You wanna say something; spit it out!” The kid said, glaring at me. I realized I’ve been staring at him the whole time. I snapped and muttered, “Brilliant.”

He took this into consideration, knitting his eyebrows together and looked at me hard in the face. He said, “Thanks,” and looked back at Mr. Lestrade.

“Okay, could anyone answer this equation?” He asked. Everyone in the room avoided eye contact; clearly they had no idea how to solve the equation. I decided to focus my attention on Sherlock’s curls, the very tiny black jungle down there. He shot his hand up in the air, the other one supporting his chin, probably wants the subject to end as much as we do.

Mr. Lestrade didn’t mind him thought, glancing back and forth the classroom. His gaze landed on me, and he said; “Ah, Mr. Watson! Do you know how to solve this equation?” _Today is really not for me._

I stood up, my brain wracking with things he probably said earlier, but I wasn’t listening. I looked down at my feet, suddenly interested at the pattern of the tiles below.

Suddenly, tiny fingers snapped at my feet. I looked at the source and he said, with his hand covering his face from the teacher whispered, “Use the FOIL method!”

“Foil Method?” I asked. I think I’ve come across that but my brain works 24/7 except for important matters in life.

He rolled his eyes. “First, outside, inside, last!” My brain processed it and suddenly, they all clicked in my head. Of course!

“Well Mr. Watson? We don’t have forever.” Sir said pointedly. Confidence surged through me at the sight of Sherlock giving me a thumbs-up and a grin. It’s obviously fake, but at least he was trying. I felt a warm feeling in my chest, and I felt even braver.

I walked up the blackboard and grabbed a chalk. I drew lines connecting the two binomial equations, combining each and formed a trinomial equation. I dropped the chalk back in place and looked at our teacher. He seems impressed, probably since I never answered any of his questions right; and if ever, without stuttering or failing miserably.

“Very good, Mr. Watson! You may go back to your seat.” He said and discussed my answer to the class as I returned to my seat. I initiated a high-five to Sherlock. He was confused at first, maybe since no one has ever asked him to do so; not even his brother. He lifted his hand and pressed it awkwardly on mine. He forced another smile and faced the board.

* * *

 

A few more subjects passed by and the subject before break arrived, History. The whole time, Mrs. Hudson would discuss some facts, Sherlock would correct it, she consults the book and thanks him for pointing it out. It happened at least five times, in which he received five awards as well.

"What kind of ink does she even use" they won't come off!" He said, rubbing the five red stars our teacher wrote on the back of his hand with soap and water. I looked at him through the mirror of the restroom and said, "Don't bother! It takes two days before they come off." I've learned from experience. He groaned and rung his hands, then proceeding to wipe them on his trousers.

We went to the canteen to grab lunch. We sat with my friends Molly, Mary and Mike. M cubed. I saw Mr. Holmes from across our table, eyeing us carefully as he gave his brother food.

"He asked me to babysit Sherlock once too," Molly said, pointing her fork twisted with pasta towards our Pysics teacher. "He said he 'entrusted his brother in my hands for I was the most responsible and diligent one in the class'." She stated, making quotes in the air.

"When was that?" Mike asked, probably because the lines 'most responsible and diligent one in the class' struck a nerve since they were classmates for two consecutive years.

"Two years ago, I think? I forgot. But he was such an angel. Well, I'm not saying that he isn't anymore, but you know." She added, covering up her statement as the subject of our conversation sat down beside me.

"And you know what he called himself? Molly asked, smirking at the kid. His eyes blew so wide, almost like saucers and warned, "Don't say it Molly! It's embarrassing!"

"He called himself," Sherlock started covering his ears and chanted 'lalalalala'. "East wind." She snickered. I don't really know what's so funny about that.

"He makes swishing sounds every time we walk!" Sherlock covered his bright red face, haunted by the memories from the past. Mary started to laugh with her and Mike just made swishing sounds at him.

"Come on guys, don't make fun of him!" I screamed, feeling sorry for his embarrassment at the moment. They all stopped and Sherlock looked the three of them, and then back at me. The color from his face drained and he just went to hug my torso. I was shocked. I felt like this was the first time someone stepped up for him when everyone else made fun of him. I looked at his brother and he just rolled his eyes.

"We're sorry, Sherlock." Mary said, with the other two mumbling their apologies as well. He didn't move away from me, his head still buried in my shoulder, but he nodded, maybe accepting their apologies. I wrapped my arm around his shoulder and said, "Just don't do that again."

* * *

 

"By the way, thanks for the thing you did," Sherlock said as we walked down the hall towards P.E., my next class. "Umm, sure, you're welcome," I replied. We walked silently towards the room. There were a couple of students there, waiting for our teacher to arrive. His name is Mr. Anderson. He is great and all that, but he's a complete idiot. He was the reason why Sherlock stared to become happy again, since his struggle to use English correctly was his source of entertainment.

"Here is the fundamental skill in playing baseball,” he said, and opened the PowerPoint that showed a number of slides.

Sherlock sat by my feet, leaning on my thighs. He rolled his eyes and said, “Are, skills. Can you get a dictionary now?”

“The feet is forward and bend your knee.”

“Are, knees. Are you asking us to propose?”

The whole class wasn’t so dull with Sherlock’s snide remarks and the faces he make whenever he looks away. I was mesmerized by the way his grey eyes twinkle with happiness and his cute baby teeth every time he smiles.

I should really stop writing fanfiction.

“Okay, classes is dismissed,” Mr. Anderson said. Sherlock and I looked at each other and raised our eyebrow.

“Race you to the canteen?” Sherlock challenged as we exited the classroom.

“No, Sherlock. You know I can’t run as fast as you.” I said. Well that was half right, I was just too lazy to do so.

He looked at me condescendingly and scoffed. “You’re just lazy. Come on, the game is on!” He’s really like his brother, and it’s weird. He stared to run, leaving me behind.

I sighed and tried to call him, but that didn’t really work. I just ran for him and as he passed by a turn, another kid ran to the opposite direction and bumped him pretty hard, and both fell on the floor. The other kid had more balance, since he was a few inches taller than him.

The mysterious kid screamed at him, “Watch it, freak!” He stood up and another kid, which was taller than him, appeared behind him and tried to bring him up. I went to Sherlock and knelt beside him. I checked for any bruises or scratches, and I saw a big wound on his left arm. The floor was pretty rough, so I think that really made his fall hurt. He doesn’t look scared or anything, but all his emotions was present in his eyes. They were a little teary but he tried his best to hide it, so that the two students won’t make fun of him.

The one who bumped Sherlock brushed inexistent dust off his uniform. “Hey dummy! Are you blind? Can’t you see I was going somewhere?” He asked, walking towards us slowly and intimidatingly. I’m not so scared of him, but I am with his friend. I guess it makes up for his puny stature.

“Hey watch it! He’s just a little kid.” I warned.

Sherlock stood up, ignoring his wound. With his chin up, chest out, and his hands curled up at his sides, he was able to be as scary as the other. “Yes, I did. But we’re you?” Not really the best comeback I could think of, but at least he was trying.

The other was about to retort but a scream startled all four of us. “JIM! SEBASTIAN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” It was Molly Hooper. She had a bit of authority since she was the president of the student council. I guess they figured that out so they ran before they got caught.

“Get back here!” She called. As soon as she reached us, she didn’t bother chasing them anymore. She knelt down and inspected Sherlock’s arm. She looked at me and asked me how did this happen and I told her the whole story.

“Oh dear, bring him to the clinic! In the meantime,” she grabbed her phone from her pocket, “Mary and I will take care of those two.”

* * *

 

The clinic nurse, Sally Donovan, welcomed us with a howl of laughter. If she wasn’t a foot taller than me, I would’ve chinned her so bad.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t little freak. I guess I lost the bet; “How long does it take for Sherlock to come to the clinic?” I’ve estimated, four minutes? Well, this was the unexpected,” she said.

“I wish we had better options, I would’ve gone here. But then again, _anything_ is a better option than you,” Sherlock replied. “Isn’t that what Mr. Anderson thought?”

She scowled and was ready to strangle him. I guess she didn’t want to lose her job, so she just started to clean and wrap up his wound.

“There. Now leave, both of you!” We did. Sherlock explained that he deduced the whole thing. He stated that both were wearing the same cologne, which was for men. An obvious deduction was present in that.

“But you’re five! You’re not supposed to know those kinds of things.” I said; he’s by far the first five year old I know that can point out that someone is sleeping with someone. Even _I_ didn’t see it.

“I’m five, not ignorant. And didn’t you see her eyes? They were red and puffy. And didn’t you notice the P.E. teacher? He was very silent. Usually he would brag about his knowledge with his complete stupidity and lack of knowledge about the use of S’s and verbs. But he didn’t! He was very silent!” He explained. Now I started to add two and two together. They broke up.

And a five year old saw that first than me.

“Oh, don’t be sad, lots of people are slow to see things faster than me. They see but they don’t observe!” I was still offended, having beaten by someone eight years younger than me.

“But think of it though, Mr. Anderson and Donovan going on dates?” Sherlock asked.

I sniggered. “That would be terrible! ‘Do you want more wines?’”

We roared in laughter as we were on our way to Health class.

* * *

 

The rest of all my subjects passed so quickly, since I grew closer to the child I’ve babysitted for the day. I finally felt that this was a hobby instead of a chore, and it was a relief.

Suddenly, taking care of Sherlock for a whole day became a better option than having to stay one and a half hours with his older brother.

Last period was over and it was time to return Sherlock back to Mr. Holmes. I didn’t accomplish the “safe and sound” part, since the accident gave him a tiny scratch. I don’t think his brother, which was also the assistant principal of the school, would notice anything!

“Don’t be absurd! This _bloody_ bandage covers my whole arm,” whether that was a pun or not, he’s right. _Yeah, but he didn’t need to lower my spirits!_ I thought.

We walked to the office where we first met, Sherlock looking at other students and deducing things like:

“Don’t wear lipstick, your boyfriend doesn’t like it,” he said to a couple passing by.

“Your wife is having her contraptions, why don’t you show your support?” He said to our Spanish teacher. He checked his phone and ran off.

“How did you—“

“What did I tell you?” He interrupted.

I sighed. “I see but I don’t observe.” He nodded, and I felt like our positions switched; I was a mere child that needed wisdom while he had the maturity of a twenty-year-old.

He continued to deduce other people along the way, saying that one having a heart failure; who knows how he found that out.

We stopped at the same door we came through earlier; from the times when I once thought that this was a bad idea. But now it’s the complete opposite, and this was the part I didn’t want to be in right now.

I was about to knock, but Sherlock screamed, “Mycroft, open the door!”

I could _feel_ the rolling of his eyes as he replied, “It’s opened!”

Sherlock screamed, “I believe it’s not,” he opened the door,” It’s merely unlocked, use the proper term next time, brother dear.”

He sighed. “Well if it isn’t my little brother.” He saw the bandage in his arm and looked at me with horror. “What have you done?”

I opened my mouth but Sherlock began to do the explaining. “Long story short, I suggest that you give detention to Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran. Write them down, will you?” He sat back on his brother’s chair, placing his feet above the desk. My teacher eyed me suspiciously and went to his brother. He opened a drawer in his desk, just beside his brother’s feet. He grabbed a notepad and a pen and wrote something down. He ended the note with a dot and looked up.

“Well then, everything’s in order; Moriarty and Moran will be cleaning the locker room of the varsity, Sherlock is perfectly fine and John Watson has fulfilled his responsibilities! Not quite,” he said, lifting his arm gently, picking the lint off the bandage of his arm.

“But you said I’ve ‘fulfilled my responsibilities’, can’t you just let me be?” I asked. I would be perfectly fine ‘babysitting’ Sherlock again, but I don’t think that’s gonna happen. Even worse; I might tag along with the two kids in the varsity locker room.

“I’m _fine,_ Mycroft. There’s no need to give him anything else,” Sherlock said in my defense.

“Of course, Sherlock, but in exchange with his lack of guidance towards you, I’ll be suspending him from his football game this coming Friday.”

Well, I stay in the bench mostly anyways. I don’t think he’s even trying to annoy me anymore.

He stood up, sporting a smug expression on his face, “That’s enough for today, Mr. Watson! I’ll be seeing you tomorrow.” Just like that? No sermons on irresponsibility or anything? Wow.

“Thank you, sir.” I said. I waved back at Sherlock, faced away and went for the door. As soon as I touched the door knob, tiny hands wrapped around my torso.

“Don’t go.” I turned around and looked at the kid. He buried his head in my stomach. I looked up at his brother and mouthed, _What?_ He shrugged.

Sherlock looked up to me and said, “Can you stay a little longer?” I swear his eyes grew wider than usual.

“Sorry, Sherlock, bit it’s time for him to go home.” Mycroft answered for me. Truly, I would _love_ to stay, but there are lots of reasons why I shouldn’t. Apparently one of them is looking at us right now.

“Maybe next time?” I simply said.

Hope welled up in his eyes as he answered, “Next time.”

* * *

 

“Are you out of your mind?”                                                     

“Well my theories are as plausible as yours, Mr. Anderson!”

The lesson for today’s P.E. class was about the famous swimming athlete, Carl Powers. When we started to talk about his cause of death, which was drowning, I started to question it.

 _You see but you don’t observe._ Carl Powers is an international swimmer, wouldn’t he know how to _not_ drown? Five other students started to agree and basically, everything turned into a debate between the teacher and us. He stuck with the text books, and apparently, this happened.

“He was obviously poisoned _before_ he swum!” Mary Morstan said.

“There. Is. No. Traces. Of. Anything. In. His. **_SYSTEM._** ” He replied, emphasizing each word. A wave of protests ensued, and was only stopped by the loud ring of the bell.

“”That ended everything,” He dismissed, I think. He isn’t really clear with instructions. Even that heated debate didn’t make sense. But of course, nothing did.

I walked with Mary towards our lockers. We were right beside each other; I using locker number 221 and she used locker 222. We discussed about the Carl Powers debate earlier today, and she was rather impressed by my reasoning.

“I’ve only learned from the best!” I grinned.

“And by ‘the best’, you mean ‘Sherlock?’”

“Well you can say that.” She laughed, and I followed.

We reached our lockers and opened them. When I pulled it open, a white envelope fell on the floor. I was surprised by it. _I don’t think it’s the time for love letters. Wait, is it Valentine’s Day?_ I asked myself. I mean, it’s just been two weeks since my encounter with Sherlock, and that was on July 11. _Shut up I wasn’t counting._

“Ohhh, you have a love note!” Mary teased. “Is that from one of the cheerleaders? They probably missed you in the football game.”

I scoffed. “No! And besides, I stay in the bleachers all the time, never got any kicks. Anyway it’s from,” I flipped the envelope to see the addressee, “Sherlock.”

“No way!” She screamed. I shushed her after half of the people in the hall started to stare at us.

I opened the envelope and read the message inside. It held four simple words that were obviously written by a child.

_The game is on._

An east wind is coming.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really sorry if it wasn't very good or it didn't meet your expectations, but I did my best!
> 
> And to the rest of the readers, what do you think?


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